


The Last Lion

by Tyler743



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Betrayal, Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, Family, Fantasy, House Lannister, Implied Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, M/M, Next Generation, Self-Discovery, Strong Female Characters, The Faceless Men, Tragedy, Travel, West of Westeros, Westeros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 00:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyler743/pseuds/Tyler743
Summary: Set fifteen years after episode 8x06After dying in the Red Keep, Jaime left behind more than a damaged brother, a brokenhearted lover and an unfinished story. He left behind a child, heir to House Lannister.Enjoy





	1. Cristine/Tyrion

**Cristine**

 

The smack of a leather strap against the solid, oak wood table made Cristine jump awake and look at poor old, Maester Lyle standing in front of her, his withered brown eyes narrowed. Quickly, she turned her attention to her side, where an almost plump, twelve year old boy with a messy mop of auburn curls sat. He was looking at her with a slight look of fear, and it wasn’t hard to know why. This hadn’t been her first time nodding off during one of Maester Lyle’s lessons, and it would most certainly not be her last. The old man was beginning to become heavily irritated by having to wake her up every lesson they shared together, but it wasn’t her fault, he made it awfully boring.

“Lady Cristine,” the maester’s rough voice spoke out. “I will kindly remind you, again, to refrain from sleeping during my lessons. Reading and writing are important skills for young Lords and Ladies like yourselves.”

He looked at the boy who in turn swallowed roughly. Cristine sighed; she was beginning to sound like a broken record, she was sure of it.

“I’m sorry Maester Lyle; you know it’s just difficult for me to make sense of the letters. It’s hard to stay interested.”

Maester Lyle waved his hand and shuffled away to the front of the room. The Castle of Winterfell was always kept rather warm do to the damp stones that held it together, but not Maester Lyle’s library. Here it always felt as though rain was not far away; and the chilled, clammy air made their robes stick to their skin.

“Many before you have been cursed with the twisted vision, and many before you have learned despite the odds. You just need to be persistent.”

Again the young girl sighed and turned back to face the red haired boy. He looked at her for only a second before shrugging his large shoulders that almost seemed a little too bit for his body. Eddy Manderly was his name; first born son of the Queen of the North, Sansa Stark and her husband, Liem Manderly of House Manderly of White Harbour; heir to the throne of the North. He was by no means a handsome boy, what with his pudgy face and small beady brown eyes. But he was not exactly homely either, and he was very kind.

“Forgive me, Maester Lyle,” Cristine nodded her head, her long, golden hair toppling over her shoulders. “I will work harder.”

“Indeed you will.”

A loud, bark like cough left the maester’s throat and he patted roughly on his chest before continuing.

“But not today, I must rest for a while now. Be off.” He ordered, and the two teenagers hesitated not to stand and vacate the room. They quickly rushed down the corridor of the castle, out towards the courtyard. It was summer, and although summers in the North were rarely the temperature you’d expect, this particular day was quite sunny. Walking through the hard working members of the castle, the two made way towards the godswood, chattering about the ways of Maester Lyle. Cristine could never understand whenever he would tell her to just work harder at her reading and spelling when it was hard enough for her to even remember the alphabet. Eddy retained information much more quickly than she could; which was to be expected of course for the future King.

“I just wish we could learn something more exciting as well, like fighting.” She huffed, her feet scuffing slightly across the grass of the godswood. Eddy laughed at her. “What? Anything would be better than those horrible lessons.”

“You heard Maester Lyle,” the redhead spoke. “It’s important for every Lord and Lady to know these things.”

They made it to the weirwood and immediately Cristine helped herself to the ground, making sure her corset didn’t jab into her belly as she did so. Eddy remained standing but leaned on the trees bark, looking down at her.

“Well, I’m not _really_ a Lady, am I? I’m never going to be Queen or...anything important. You’ll be King some day, but I’ll just be me. Besides, I don’t really want to be a Lady anyhow.”

Eddy eyed her sharply, the childlike features that held onto his face beaming as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Well, what do you want to be then?”

She shrugged and leaned her back against the tree. “I want to be like my mother, travelling the world, making a difference.”

Her mother, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Commander of the Kings guard traveled often, and although she only got to see once every so often, she would always send raven’s back to Winterfell to tell her about her adventures protecting the realm. When Cristine was a very young child, Ser Brienne had made the decision to give her loyal friend, the Queen of the North. Over the years, Cristine wondered why her mother had given her up, but whenever she would ask, she would be met with the same answer, “ _Commander’s of the Kings guard cannot be bothered with children._ ”

It was understandable. Being a commander of anything required focus, something that was hard to have whilst running after a toddler. Living in the capital of the south, Kings Landing was also a gamble, and worrisome for any parent. Although mostly at peace, it was well known that the odd attack on the castle and city would happen, mostly from angry loyalists from the War of the Bells who do not agree with the changes made to the kingdom. Yes, Winterfell was an easier option, a safer option.

“Traveling is horrible.” Eddy scoffed after a moment. “You sit for hours at a time, you’re tired, you’re hungry, the weather’s often grim, at least it is in the Vale.”

“At least you have traveled.”

Not once in her 15 years had Cristine ventured outside of Winterfell. She was not even allowed to go outside of the castle gates, though whenever she asked Maester Lyle, or Queen Sansa or King Liem as to why that was; she would always be brushed aside. Eventually she had just stopped asking. She would give anything to visit the capital to see where her mother resided, or run along the coast, or even visit her relatives on the far Isle of Tarth. But it was not meant to be, she was set to forever be a prisoner in her own home.

A silence loomed around the two beings for a moment as the cool summer breeze rustled the tree branches above them. Eventually, it was Eddy who spoke first.

“Mother told me that Uncle Bran and Lord Tyrion will be attending my nameday this year. It will be nice to see them again; it’s been a while since the last time.”

Cristine’s heartbeat spiked. Whenever she met his Uncle Bran, King of the six Kingdoms she was always filled with a deep uncertainty. He was nice enough, but a very strange man, quiet and mysterious; it was hard for her to connect to him. But his hand, Tyrion was a different story all together. Since they had been children, Tyrion had always made it his duty to visit Winterfell on behalf of the King, and he was always extremely kind and comforting to the children, telling them stories of his past, sharing horribly executed jokes that ended up being funny anyway. There was something about the dwarf that made Cristine feel at home, really at home and she loved it.

“Did she mention my mother coming at all?” she asked hopefully, but in truth she already knew the answer. If the King and his hand were on the move, it usually meant that her mother would remain.

Eddy shook his head and frowned.

“She didn’t.”

Cristine nodded her head and looked down at the dry grass that spread around her. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Eddy took a deep breath and slumped down the tree beside Cristine. She turned her head, her emerald eyes looking sadly at him. He gave her a small smile, the freckles that spread across his snubby nose seemed more predominant than they usually did.

“It’s hard being the Commander of the King’s Guard I’d imagine.” He said, trying in his own awkward way to comfort her. She looked at him for a moment before, her eyes flicking around every inch of his chubby face. He had a gentle face, just like his soul.

“It’s even harder being a mother.” She said after a moment. She would tell herself this every time she felt as though her mother had left her. She loved her. But being a knight and a mother at the same time was difficult, and she needed to make the decision. It helped thinking this way, a bit.

 

 

 

 

**Tyrion**

 

 

The rocking of the carriage was beginning to make the imp feel sick to his stomach, he never much cared for travelling in them, he preferred horseback as strange as that may seem. Although it was possible for the young King Bran to travel atop a horse, it was much easier to use the coach for transport.

His green eyes drifted from looking out of the window to instead gaze at his King, who was, unsurprisingly, already looking back at him. In the last sixteen years of serving him he had never been able to get used to the eerie way Bran always seemed to know things nobody else did. Stiffening Tyrion looked away again and shifted in his seat.

“Shouldn’t be long now Your Grace,” he spoke loudly, but his confidence quivered. “Two days at the most, I'd say.” Pausing, he thought for a moment about his words. “But I suspect you...already know that.”

“We can stop if you wish.” Bran spoke with a slight, almost nonexistent smile to his tone. “You don’t look well.”

“Nonsense,” Tyrion shook his head, his expression scrunching. “I’ve done a fair bit of traveling in my day; this is nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Just...getting a little bit old I suppose.”

He smiled at Bran who stared back at him with an empty gaze. Suddenly however his stomach lurked and his hand flew to his mouth, in fear that he would be sick. In his past he had traveled in ships, in crates, on horseback, and never once was he so affected by the motion. He hated aging and what it did to him.

“But perhaps we can rest the horses for a while.” He mumbled after his belly was calmed. “It may be good for them.”

Bran slowly nodded his head and leaned towards the small window behind him that led to the driver.

“Find somewhere to rest the horses.” He spoke calmly.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The driver could be heard saying quietly. Bran turned back to Tyrion, his brown eyes looking deep into him.

“You’re excited to see her again.”

Tyrion cocked an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but because of the King’s abilities, he assumed it was the latter. After a moment he nodded.

“I’m excited to see them all again; Lady Sansa, Lord Eddard, it’s been a while.”

“But you are most excited for Lady Cristine.” Tyrion swallowed and looked at Bran, their eyes catching. “She is your only family after all.”

“She is.” The imp agreed. It was true, he had lost his entire family; his mother during his infancy, his father, by his own hand, and his siblings and most of his bloodline in the War of the Bells. He had no one left other than the child his brother had unconsciously left behind as a result of his quick lived relationship with Brienne of Tarth. It had been a surprise for all of them when they had found out she was carrying, and although it has raised complications due to the controversy of his brother, Jaime’s alliance, and the fact that the Commander of the Kings Guard was now carrying a bastard child, Tyrion had been extremely relieved by the news and had done everything he could to be there with Brienne during her pregnancy and a short time of Cristine’s life in Kings Landing. When Brienne had made the decision to send her to Winterfell, it had broken his heart but he understood her decision. There were still loyalists to his sister who believed that Jaime had betrayed the crown who would want his child dead, and there were still loyalists to the Dragon Queen who believed all Lannister's should be erased from the world. He himself had avoided a few assassination attempts by those who believed him to also be a traitor. It was dangerous for them to risk exposing Cristine’s heritage.

“But it hardly matters. To her I am nothing more than the Hand of the King and a sub-par storyteller.” Tyrion laughed.

“It’s not her time to know the truth.” Bran deadpanned. “ _Not yet_.” Tyrion shook his head.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that, you know. It’s a bit unsettling.”

Not long after, the carriage pulled off of the road to a small inn that was nestled between the trees. Tyrion was the first to hop out, rushing away from the coach as the driver climbed down from his seat and rushed around to the back to grab a large wooden plank that was held in place there.

“Are you alright My Lord?” a males voice asked from behind the imp, causing him to turn around. Two knights who were sat atop dusty coloured horses; one of them, Podrick Payne, swung his leg over his mount and climbed down. A smile played on his lips. Dropping the reins of his horse, he rushed over to the coach and helped the driver with the plank, pressing it against the lip of the door. Once it was securely in place he went around the other side and got in to push Bran’s chair down the makeshift ramp.

“Fine, fine.” Tyrion chimed as he watched his old friend push the King down onto solid ground. “What is there to complain about on a fine day like this, Ser Podrick? The sun is shining, the air is crisp, and the smell of cow shit is only minimal.”

Podrick chuckled to himself and wheeled Bran towards the door of the inn, the driver and Tyrion following close behind while the other knight tied their horses securely to a post.  
The moment the group of men entered the old stone house, all heads turned and the talking began. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile, Bran was, after all a Northern and he had the respect of the people. Immediately they were sat at a table and brought ale; one thing the Lannister would never get used to about the north was their love of ale. He much preferred wine, but who was he to complain? Alcohol was alcohol, though over the last few years he had noticed his tolerance for the substance was going down and he no longer found handovers tolerable. It was a true shame.

They were brought meat pies which all of them dug into without hesitation. Tyrion hadn’t realized how hungry he had been on their journey.

“It’s strange to be back in the North.” Podrick said mid chew, his lips smacking together. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here in the summer.”

“I could have sworn you’ve accompanied us to Lord Eddard’s name day in the past.” Tyrion questioned, taking a large gulp of his ale, the liquid trickling down into his beard.  
Podrick merely shook his head.

“Never.”

“I could have sworn it.”

“It will be my first time in the North during summer as well,” Stephan, the second knight spoke out. “It’s warmer than I thought’d be.”

“We have a ways to go to Winterfell yet, I wouldn’t get used to the temperature.” Tyrion gave a side smile to the lad who merely made a face of disappointment.

“What about you, Your Grace?” Podrick asked, turning his attention to Bran. Bran slowly shifted his gaze towards him. “Are you happy to be home?”

“This isn’t my home, not really.” he spoke quietly. Podrick’s eyebrows furrowed and he shot Tyrion a glace. Tyrion merely took a swig of his drink, quickly raising his brows once.

The young knight had been wheeling Bran around for fifteen years and he still didn’t expect his brief responses; the imp wasn’t sure if he was a fool or just hopeful.

“Well I can’t wait to see the Queen again.” Stephan jibed, elbowing Podrick in the side. “She’s proper easy on the eyes that one.”

Narrowing his eyes Tyrion lowered his gaze at the blonde haired man. “Careful now; that is the sister of your King you are talking about.”

Stephan’s cheeks burned bright red and he looked down at the wood of the table, avoiding Bran’s just barely amused gaze.

“Forgive me, Your Grace...”he mumbled.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Bran told him. “Sansa has grown into a beautiful woman.”

“Just as you have grown into a splendid King.” Tyion spoke with a smile. And it had been true; against all odds Bran really had proved to be a fair and just ruler, much to some subjects surprise. Though his social side could use work...a lot of work, his visions and execution of said visions were truly well thought out and often beneficial. “And just as we have all grown for the better as well.”

He held up his tankard, motioning for the others to do so as well. They did.

“To growth!” he boomed loudly.

“To growth!”


	2. Derrick/Eddy

**Derrick**

 

“And then I says to her, I says...I wouldn’t give two shits if you were fucking the bloody dog, I don’t want your dirty cunt near me cock ever again! And I kicked her out, I did.” A hoarse voiced man cackle, slamming his tankard down on the wooden table of the bar. The men who were seated around him, all of them pink in the face began to laugh violently. It was clear that they were already far too drunk for their own good, as was every other seamen in the pub. The man slowed his laughing and his eyes became fixated on a raven haired young boy, probably about seventeen years old who was collecting tankards from another table. “Oi! Boy!”

The boy looked up, his shaggy locks falling slightly into his blue eyes.

“Bring us another round of ale!” the man ordered roughly, causing the boy to roll his eyes. Quickly he made his way to the counter of the pub and placed the tankards down carelessly. The man who was quick at work behind the counter looked at him.

“Careful with those,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes. His hair and eyes were the same colours as the lads, but his face was much more tired. “I don’t have the coin for more if you break them.”

“Sorry father.” He mumbled, slumping over to the keg to prepare more ale. His father eyed him carefully, placing the cloth he had been using to clean some cups down on the counter.

“Is something wrong, Derrick? You’re glum this evening.”

Derrick poured the amber ale into each new tankard and gave his father a look. “Just tired.”

“Well, you finish up with that and then head upstairs for some rest. You’re no good to me, or yourself like this.” His father smiled slightly at him, causing him to nod. To him, rest was exactly what he needed.

Part of Derrick really enjoyed working with his father at their port-side pub in White Harbor, it was a great way to hear stories from far off lands, meet people from all over the world. But the other part of him longed to experience those same kinds of adventures for himself, not just stay rooted in the same town he was torn in for the rest of his life. But his father needed him, he couldn’t leave. It was just beginning to wear on him.

He brought the drinks over to the men and began to place them down in front of each, well dressed boy. He noticed that their accents were a bit strange, harsh like that of the North, but a bit more sharp. They were from the Iron Islands, he could tell. It was rare for anyone from overseas to come to the North. Normally it was the Capital they would sail to, for trade or international relations. The North was dull and cold, Derrick didn’t understand the appeal.

“Do you believe this shite about the Lannister brat?” The burly man scuffed, grabbing his new drink and throwing it back. Derrick’s eyebrows scrunched together and he began to lay the drinks out a bit more slowly so he could listen. The Lannister’s; he had heard much about them from his father. An extinct house now, or nearly just. After the War of the Bell’s they had all been executed by the Dragon Queen, save for the imp, Tyrion Lannister who now is shielded by his position as Hand of the King. He had been far too young at the time for the family to really have any impact on his opinion, and as his father often told him, “anyone with that much coin would be equally as corrupt”, so he did not hold any ill will towards them. But it was no kept secret that many people still hated the family name.

One of the other men belched loudly, his fist pounding on his chest. “It don’t matter if we believe it or not! If it’s what our Queen heard, then it’s basically written, innit?”  
“All I’m sayin, is that she could’o sent us over to this shithole, have us freezing our asses off in the mud all because of a wild goose chase. Don’t seem fair to me, we all know those golden fucks have been dead for years.”

Derrick jumped slightly as the man abruptly turned and grabbed his forearm tightly, his sausage like fingers making his limb look like a twig.

“What about you boy, you hear anything about a Lannister twat being hidden by your _Queen of the North_?” he sneered. Derrick’s mouth fell open slightly as he quickly racked his brains for what to say. He hadn’t heard anything, and he thoroughly doubted the Queen of the North was hiding a criminal, she hated the Lannister’s just as much as anyone else, he was sure of it. But even if he had, he was not a snitch. The North stays with the North.

Before he had time to say anything however his father came over, his eyes narrowed at the man who was holding tightly onto his son.

“There a problem, men?” he asked calmly. All of the others at the table looked at him for a moment before the burly man finally let go with a drunken smirk.

“The only problem is that your ale tastes like piss.” He snarled, picking up his tankard and pouring the rest of it out onto the table. “Is this the best the great, strong North has?”  
Derrick could feel anger begin to boil inside of him and he clenched his fists. His father sensed his rage however and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Go upstairs. I’ll handle this.” He said quietly to him. Derrick hesitated for a moment before angrily ripping away and stomping upstairs. Had his anger not been as bad as it was, and had his longing for adventure been slighter, the pub life would have been perfect for him. But he knew deep down it was not meant to be.

Ripping open the door to his quarters, Derrick slumped over to his bed and threw himself on it, his back hitting the springy mattress hard. For a while, his thoughts were stuck, focused on the horrible men from the Iron Islands. But after a while they shifted; it was very probable that what they had said about the Lannister’s was not true, but he couldn’t help but wonder where they had gotten that information from. It was very odd.

 

 

 

 

**Eddy**

 

Eddy couldn’t wait until supper, so he had decided to enter the kitchen before hand and help himself to the cakes; had his mother known she could have scolded him horribly for doing so, but luckily he was alone in the hall, until that is he heard the clicking of shoes against the stone floor coming closer and closer to his whereabouts. Quickly he plunged himself under the table, his face coated in sugar from the pastries he had shoved into his mouth in an attempt to be quick.

“Eddy,” a girl’s voice spoke, very much sounding irritated. “I know you’re in here.”

Recognising the voice as Cristine’s, Eddy sighed and crawled out from under the table, standing up and seeing her standing there, arms crossed over her chest, one pale eyebrow raised hair on her forehead. A single hiccup escaped his throat as he bumbled over to her. She always had a way of knowing where he was, even if he was trying to be sneaky, it was a big scary.

Her green eyes scanned over him like a mother about to scold her child. “You’ve got sugar everywhere, the Queen will not be happy.”

“I know,” he mumbled, quickly brushing himself free from the evidence. “I was just so hungry, if I waited any longer I would have starved.”

Cristine laughed. “Let’s get out of here before Margaret comes back to set the tables.”

The boy nodded and they quickly rushed out of the kitchen, pushing the large heavy wooden doors closed behind them.

“So I was thinking a lot about it,” Eddy said. His voice was still quite high for a twelve year old, but threatened dropping very soon. “You should ask King Bran if you can go with them to the capital for a visit when they’re here. I’m sure he will allow it.”

He had been thinking a lot, and although he was young and didn’t fully understand why his mother, father or the King made the decisions they made, he could understand that traveling with the King and his most loyal knights would be a safe way of travel.

Cristine sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and began to chew.

“I don’t think he would.”

“It’s worth a try. Perhaps I can go too...mother always said I could when I was older. I’ll be thirteen soon.” He smiled. “That’s the oldest I’ve ever been.”  
The blonde smiled as well. “I wish I had your optimism, Ed.”

They turned the corner and almost ran straight into a woman; tall, beautiful fire like hair, fair complexion, royal plum robes. The Queen. And in her arms, a small bundle.  
She jumped slightly backwards as to not collide with them, clutching the bundle tightly to her.

“My goodness,” she exclaimed. “What have I told you about turning corners that quickly? You could have hurt your brother.”

“Sorry mother...” Eddy apologized with a bow of his head. Cristine also bowed an apology. Sansa inhaled sharply through her nose and nodded her head, relaxing a bit in her spot.

“Supper will be soon. Margaret will be serving it early today, when the sun just sets. Do not be late, either of you.”

Again they both nodded and began to walk past her. Sansa however turned on her heels.

“Eddy,” she barked causing both of them to stop dead. They looked at her; Eddy’s heart dropping deep in his chest. He knew that voice. “No sweets before supper.”

His pale face went pink and he quickly turned again, ignoring Cristine who was snickering beside him. His mother always seemed to know.


	3. Basir/No One

**Basir**

 

“Again!”

Basir Sand wiped the sweat from his dirtied forehead, his breath ragged from the spar he had just completed. His opponent, a thick man who was about twice his age, struggled to get to his feet, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Basir’s coal-like eyes flicked towards the man who was standing against the wall to the side of them. He was tall, lean, had a beautiful face and dark silky hair. Manfrey Martell, Prince of Dorne and the closest thing to a father Basir had ever had.

Clutching the thin, wooden staff tightly in his hand he spun around, bringing the stick down towards the other man who fumbled quickly out of the way, bringing his own weapon up. The sound of wood clunking together wrung out and the two danced around one another until finally Basir was able to knock him once again to the ground. The stick had strung him so hard in his unguarded head; his cheek split open, blood spilling only the sand ground below. A low growl like whimper escaped through his throat and he brought his hands up quickly, one of them cradling his injury and the other waving frantically in the air. Enough.

Basir brought his staff down roughly against the earth and straightened his back. He watched the man moan and writhe in pain before him.

Slowly Manfrey clapped his hands together. “Very good, my son.” He said proudly, striding over to the two. “Very good. But remember; never show mercy to your opponents, not even if they beg for it.”

Quickly he grabbed the staff out from Basir’s hand and spun around, violently driving it into the other mans chest. He coughed once, even more blood spurting from the back of his throat; even the whites of his eyes turned red as they rolled back into his head and he fell backwards lifelessly.

Basir inhaled the dry air around him deeply through his nostrils, but he did not look away. “It will not happen again, Milord.”

Manfrey smiled and handed him back his staff, his hand lingering on it for a little while before he finally nodded towards the path that led to the palace.

“Walk with me.” he said, and they both started off. The day was quite hot, it was summer after all, but the dry air that rolled off of the sand dunes made it worse. “Do you know why I chose you as my successor, Basir?”

The younger man remained quiet. He was hot and he was tired from the spar. After a few moments of silence, Manfrey realized he would get no answer so he continued.

“I chose you as my successor, because like me, you have no one else in this world. You know what it’s like to have everything taken from you, to be left alone and vulnerable.”

That was indeed true. Basir had been on his own for as long as he could remember. He had heard that his mother was a common whore who cared more about her job and the coin that came with it than her bastard child. She had left him on the street to die as an infant, and he probably would have had one of Manfrey’s scullery maids not have found him.

“The entire Martell bloodline was plucked from this world by Cersei Lannister,” Manfrey continued as they walked up the steps of the palace. A few, finely dressed women rushed past them, chattering to themselves, the sweet smell of their perfume making Basir’s mouth run dry. “My cousins, their children. All of them gone. You are all I have.”

Manfrey stopped walking, pulling himself completely in front of the younger man and placing both hands on his shoulders. They dark eyes met.

“I am sending you to the Iron Island, my son.” Basir’s eyes widened. “As the head of my fleet.”

“Has Lady Yara send confirmation about the rumors then?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. But if it comes to that, I would trust no one more than you.” Manfrey smiled slightly before turning and continuing through the palaces open corridor. “The late Queen Daenerys, first of her name made a promise that she would make the world a better place by disposing of the corrupt, greed ridden bloodlines like the Lannister's. Knowing that not only the imp was allowed to walk free, but also that there might be an offspring of the Kingslayer...it worries me.”

“The imp is weak; he’s no fighter, nor is he a threat.” Basir corrected quietly. The pair of them sat down at a small table, immediately a young woman, no older than 14 rushed over with a tray of wine. Manfrey took one of the glasses of wine and took a drink, his tongue quickly darting out to lick his lips dry afterwards.

“It is not the fighters you need to fear, my son. It is the thinkers. Tyrion Lannister is not what he once was by any means, but he is wise and he is silver tongued. Queen Daenerys murdered his family, rightfully so...one does not let something like that go without considering revenge.”

Basir also took a drink from the tray. The girl bowed her head and quickly backed away.

“Well...that may be. But regarding the bastard....it would only be but a child. Should we really be wasting our time and sacrificing Dorne’s political stance for the possibility of a future threat from a child? This is if the rumors are even true.”

“The point is what the child represents.” The prince pressed, leaning back into his chair. “If the North has been lying and hiding a refugee from the rest of the great leaders, than that is treason. What else could they be hiding? What else do they know that the rest of us do not?”

“Or perhaps they hide the truth because they do not want an innocent child to get slaughtered by angry fanatics.” Basir sneered before taking a long swig of his bitter drink. Manfrey gave him a look.

“No one is innocent in this world. Everything is done for a motive, and everyone is playing the game.”

Basir thought for a long moment, finishing his glass in one more chug. Manfrey was a strong ruler, but if defeat ever befell him, it would be due to his paranoia. Nonetheless, Basir owed him his own life, he loved the man with all of his heart and he would die for him if need be.

Placing his glass down on the table’s surface with a loud clink, he nodded.

“I will lead your fleet.” He agreed. “If it comes to that.”

Manfrey smiled once again. “Very good.”

 

 

 

 

**No One**

 

Perched high in a crooked tree, sheltering themselves beneath the shadow of the leaves was a cloaked figure, their face barely able to be seen from underneath of the large hood. Below, was a very small house like structure, its blue tiled roof pointed unlike any of the structures in Westeros. It had felt like hours of waiting in the tree, the sun had gone down, the air had become cool. But they remained alert.

When the door of the house finally opened, and a man dressed in strange amour staggered out, the figure stiffened and watched.

A number of voices chattered from inside of the house, in a tongue that was hard to place called out to the clearly drunken man. He fell to the side slightly and yelled something back before closing the door and slowly heading away down the path. The figure waited a moment before quietly, stealthily making its way down the tree, dropping into the bushes below and silently rushing after him. But they made sure to stay hidden, watching his every move.

The man was middle aged, and quite handsome; his dark, shaggy hair was pulled back at the base of his neck, and his almond shaped eyes, though hazed from intoxication, were wise looking. He began singing something to himself as he tripped over himself down the path. The figure followed him without making itself known for about another five minutes before finally the man stopped both his singing and his walking. The figure also froze in the bush, waiting, listening.

The man leaned his head to the side. “How long exactly did you wait outside the inn.” He slurred, a strange accent pulling off his lips. The figure inhaled sharply and remained still. The man laughed. “I know you’re there...there’s no point hiding.”

Slowly the figure stepped out of the bush and onto the path. The man turned around, almost falling over sideways as he did so.

“How did you know?” it was a woman’s voice; clear and firm. The man smiled, his cheeks almost swallowing his eyes.

“So you’re a woman.” He chuckled. “I know you have been following me all day. What do you want?”

The clocked woman walked forward, her posture as straight as a pin, until she was only a few feet away from the man. He squinted to look at her as though her sudden closeness made her more difficult to see. Most likely the alcohol’s doing.

“I was told by the Mukade to find you. It wasn’t hard.” Her voice was guided by a smirk that made the man frown.

“Where are you from?”

“That doesn’t matter. I was told to find you, and I did.”

A sudden gust of wind blew around them, causing the dirt to dance at their feet. The man pursed his lips.

“And what does the Mukade want from me?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“That’s for you to find out.”

Swallowing roughly, the man narrowed his eyes, perhaps out of annoyance or perhaps because he was still struggling to see.

“Who are you?”

Reaching up the woman threw her hood back to reveal an average looking, square face, determined eyes, and long chestnut hair that was pulled into a single, tight braid. A small smirk played on her thin lips.

“No one.”


	4. Cristine/No One

**Cristine**

 

 

Cristine stroked the large Clydsdale, known as Strumdon’s nose gently, his dark eyes lulling shut as she did so, his hot breath puffing out of his nostrils onto her arms. She liked spending time with the horses when Eddy was busy with his lessons, lessons that she wasn’t obligated to take and therefore chose not to. Because she had been cursed with the twisted vision, she hated trying to read or write and Maester Lyle trying to force her to do so even more. So, she would instead come to the stables and sit with the great beasts who resided in them, imaging herself on their backs, riding across the country.

She had only been on a horse one time when she was a little younger. She could remember it was at night; she had snuck out of bed, rushed down to the stables, climbed the fence and pulled herself, somehow, on the back of one of the horses. Unfortunately it had spooked and tossed her off immediately, causing her to break her arm and hit her head; she still had the scar beside her left eyebrow to this day. Her young screams of pain quickly alerted the adults inside the castle, and she was found not long after. Queen Sansa was very unhappy, and she was barely even allowed within eyeshot of the stables for a long time.

Now of course things were different. She wasn’t a foolish little girl anymore who acted before she thought something through; in fact, she most though things through without acting now. Her mind was constantly going, wandering off to faraway places, taking her on adventures across Westeros and beyond, or in the least outside of Winterfell. She had heard the stories of Queen Sansa’s siblings, traveling up North of far across the sea. She had heard about dragons, and the living dead, and stone people. All of it sounded amazing to her, dangerous but amazing. She wished with all of her heart that she could see some of it for herself.

Strumdon’s large head pulled away from Cristine’s tiny hand and his mouth stretched open in a yawn. Cristine smiled softly.

“What could you possibly have to be tired about, you silly creature. You stand here all day, putting food in your belly and getting stroked by me. It’s not exactly a hard life you live.” She joked. The great beast looked back at her and for a minute they looked at each other, eventually her smile faded. “We’re both trapped here.”

“Cristine! There you are.”

Cristine turned around to see Eddy walking over to her, his curls bouncing with every step he made. She slid down from sitting on the fence and walked to meet him.

“How were your lessons?”

Eddy rolled his eyes. “Horrid. I hate learning numbers, they’re dreadfully boring.”

“But an important skill for young Lords and Lady’s to learn.” She mimicked Maester Lyle’s famous line and Eddy chuckled. The two began to walk back towards the main hall.

“Being King seems boring.” Eddy whined.

“Somebody has to do it.”

As they walked past the front gates of Winterfell, the lookout who stood atop the watch tower called down to a few of the guards.

“OPEN THE GATE AND QUEEN THE QUEEN!” he shouted. “THE KINGS ARRIVED!”

Both Cristine and Eddy pulled off to the side and stood still, watching as the gates slowly cranked open. On the other side, being pulled by two large white horses was a carriage, and beside that were two knight’s on their own steeds. When the doors opened fully they all entered Winterfell’s grounds.

The crunching of dry ground behind her graced Cristine’s ears and she turned to see Queen Sansa and King Liem walking towards them, both dressed just as radiantly as they always were.  
The two knights were the first down from their horses and quickly went to set up a ramp for the carriage’s door. The door opened and out popped the imp, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King. He hobbled down the ramp and helped to hold it in place while one of the knights, known as Podrick rushed around to the other side to push the King out.

Cristine watched silently as the King was wheeled down the ramp, his stoic eyes looking first at her and Eddy, and then to Queen Sansa who was rushing over to him.

“I’ve missed you!” she chimed, bending down to give him a quick, tight hug.

Bran smiled at her but said nothing in response, even as she pulled away.

“You look well, Your Grace.” King Liem said with a smile that was covered by his thick, dark beard. “The North has missed you.”

“Well it looks like we left it in capable hands.” Tyrion said brightly, clapping his hands together. His green eyes shifted towards the castle. “The adjustments are looking good.”

“You think so?” Liem’s lips pulled far across his cheeks, and his eyes twinkled with delight. Cristine turned her head over her shoulder to look at her home. Three years prior, the King and Queen had hired stone masons to adjust the exterior so that it no longer looked so dark and dingy. It was a shame that they hadn’t worked inside as well because no matter how lovely it looked outside, it was horribly dull behind the walls. He stepped over to the dwarf and put his hand on his back, guiding him towards the castle. “The design was my fathers. He always said Winterfell was the homeliest slab of rock he’d ever seen north of the Twins.”

“It wasn’t so bad once you were too frozen to care.” Tyrion joked back. The two men passed Eddy and Cristine and Tyrion shot her a glaze, winking quickly and giving her a smile. She was so utterly glad that he was back, and she could hardly wait to ask him questions of her mother and her great deeds she had accomplished since the last time they had spoke.

“Eddy, help Ser Stephan with the King’s belongings.” Sansa instructed. She followed lose behind Podrick who was pushing Bran in the same direction King Liem and Tyrion had gone. Right away Eddy jumped into action.

“Yes mother!”

Cristine picked up the skirt of her long, sapphire robe and paced herself at Sansa’s side, her golden hair dancing behind her in the wind.

“You didn’t have to come all this way for a name day celebration.” The red haired mumbled as they walked. Her speech was directed at her younger brother.

The rough ground underneath of him made his wheelchair bump and rattle, causing him to sway in his seat. “Of course I did,” Bran started. “He’s my nephew.”

“You haven’t been to one of his name days since he was three.” Sansa shot him a look. “You didn’t even come for Liem’s birth. So why now?”

Cristine’s eyes shifted as she watched Sansa give the King and all knowing look. An all knowing look that was still somehow left in the dark; and she wondered what it was that the Queen was talking about.

Bran turned his head slightly and looked at Sansa for a moment. “Time goes by so fast...”his voice was almost machine like, as though someone were inside his head cranking out speech that really had no meaning. “I don’t want to miss anything anymore. You’re my family.”

Sansa’s look faltered a bit and she grinned. “You make it sound like you’re going to die. You’re only young.”

“Technically anything could happen to anyone at anytime.” Podrick piped in with a shrug. Cristine and Sansa both quickly looked at him. He frowned. “Sorry.”

“I don’t plan on dying yet,” Bran monotone. “There are still things I need to do.”

“Let’s stop talking about death.” The redhead demanded. The four entered the main hall of Winterfell, Podrick lifting the King slightly up over the lip of the stone floor. “Cristine show the King and Ser Podrick to their chambers.” She paused. “We decided to give Liem your old chamber.”

“He gets more use out of it, I’m sure.” Bran nodded his head. Sansa did as well before turning her attention to Cristine, her sharp gazing causing her to stiffen where she stood.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Cristine bowed. “This way, please.”

 

 

 

 

**No One**

 

 

Arya sat back in her seat, pressing her arms to her chest as she watched the man in front of her sloppily shovel his food into his mouth. She hadn’t managed to get any information from him the night before as he was far too intoxicated, so she had let him sleep and decided that the next day they would go find somewhere to eat and talk. Unfortunately the moment they had found the inn and gone inside the man had ordered another ale for himself, despite it being only mid morning. She had no idea why she had been ordered to find him out of anyone, but she was not one to ask questions anymore.

“When the Mukade sent me to find you, I wasn’t expecting a drunk.” She said calmly. The man looked up, his jaw falling slack so that some of his food dripped from his lips onto the table in front of him. He blinked once before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and taking another bite of food.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Arya fell silent again, the sound of his lips smacking together grating against her brain. Eventually, the man took hold of his ale and drank.

“So what is your real name, No One?”

“It wouldn’t mean anything to you.”

“If it’s better than calling you No One, it means something.”

Arya smirked and hesitated before answering. “Arya Stark.”

The man’s dark eyes shifted towards the ceiling as though he were looking at something, before he nodded.

“And you?”

“You can call me Gold.”

Arya made a face and chuckled slightly. “Your name’s Gold?”

“No, but that’s what you can call me.” He responded snidely. Ayra nodded her head.

“Alright then, Gold it is.”

She looked down at her own food; the meat was horribly fatty and under cooked unlike the meat back in Westeros which was always lean and cooked to perfection. She had lived in Tokaido for just shy of fifteen years and she still hadn’t gained a taste for the food.

“So,” Gold began with full cheeks. “Arya Stark, what exactly is it that you want from me?”

Arya craned her neck to the side, cracking it. “I’m looking for a library.”

Gold finished his food and gave her an odd look, scoffing a bit under his breath. “There are plenty of libraries across Tokaido. One’s you don’t need a common thief to find.”

“I’m not looking for any library, I’m looking for this one.”

Reaching into her satchel she pulled out a parchment, pressing it flat against the table in front of them and shoving it towards him. It was a drawing, a very beautiful drawing of a large structure, with golden tiling. He looked down at it and laughed.

“What you’re looking for doesn’t exist. It’s a myth.” Gold said, beginning to pick at his teeth. Arya shook her head.

“No it’s not. It’s real.”

“Who told you that?” the man asked, leaning back in his own seat. “The Mukade? Don’t listen to him; he’s a crazy old man.”

“It’s real.” She insisted again. “And you’re going to help me find it.”

He laughed once more. “Am I? What makes you think that?”

Arya smiled and leaned forward, pressing her arms close to her body so that the top of her tunic lipped slightly, showing a bit of skin at her chest. Gold’s eyes immediately dropped down.

“Because, I can give you what you want.” Her voice was a seductive whisper, but her hands quickly move back to her satchel and pulled out a satin pouch. She places it on the table gently but even then you could hear the clinking of the coin inside. His eyes moved from her chest to the pouch, to her eyes before he quickly leaned forward and picked it up. He held it above the table for only a moment, his eyes widening at the weight, then he placed it back down.

“You’re going to pay me this much to help you chase after a legend?” he asked, dumbfounded. Her smile grew.

“And more if we find it.”

He waited for a moment to see if she would tell him she was joking, but when she said nothing he chuckled and muttered something in his own language, shaking his head.

“So, what will it be?”

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’ll help you find it. But if we don’t....if it turns out to be a dead end, I still get the coin.”

Her eyes narrowed in a determined manor. “Half.”

His eyes narrowed, annoyed. “All of it.”

Arya took both the coin pouch and her picture and put them carefully back in her satchel. “If you don’t find it, you get half. If you do find it, you get all of the coin and more. If you refuse, you get none. That’s the deal.”

Gold sucked one side of his cheek in, his dark eyes staring at her, threatening her to back down. He didn’t know her yet, he didn’t know that she never backed down if she wanted something.

It took minutes for their stare down to end, and Gold finally sighed. “Fine. Half.”

Arya smiled again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your support so far everyone :) 
> 
> I hope you are still enjoying it !


	5. Derrick/Cristine

**Derrick**

 

The more the hours and days passed by, the more Derrick found himself thinking about the question he had been asked by the travelers. Queen Sansa had been one of the strongest and most committed leaders the North had ever seen. Hiding something or in this case someone, from her people is something she would never do. And even if the rumours were true, why hide and protect a Lannister in the North? The Stark family always had rocky ties with the lions, so why? It made little sense.

Derrick’s foot hit the bucket of water he had been using to scrub the floor of the inn clean, and the murky water spilled out around him. He cursed and tossed the rag to the floor. His father, who was busy at work cleaning behind the bar, looked up, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You might as well get whatever it is that’s bothering you off your mind, Derrick.” He said. Derrick pivoted in is spot and looked at him. There was so much on his mind he really didn’t know where to begin. How was he supposed to tell his father he no longer wanted to live in White Harbor and work the inn? Would he judge him for questioning their Queen? His father was usually very open about such conversations, but it always worried him nonetheless.

“Derrick...”his father questioned after a moment of silence causing Derrick to sigh and nod his head.

“Is...”he began but his voice trailed off for a moment while he collected his thoughts. “Is Lord Tyrion really the last member of the Lannister bloodline?”

His father blinked, his face scrunching in confusion as though he were not expecting the question.

“I’m sure there are still some surviving members other than Lord Tyrion.” He responded. “In hiding somewhere, or with different names no doubt. Why do you ask?”

Derrick hesitated. “The men from the other day, the ones from the Iron Islands, they said that there might be a Lannister bastard being hidden by the Queen. She wouldn’t do that...would she?”

“It’s possible.” His dad said with a heavy shrug. The younger man narrowed his eyes, turning his body completely around to face his father. He had heard stories of how young Sansa Stark had been mistreated by the Lannister family for years, tormented and humiliated. Why now would she help them?

“But why? She was held prisoner by the Lannister’s wasn’t she? Why would she defend them?”

His father gave him a look that he knew well; a sincere, almost too neutral look. “I think it is because she was a prisoner. Being a child of war is a horrendous thing, and our Queen knows that better than anyone.”

Derrick turned up his nose and crouched down, picking up the overthrown bucket and placing it upright again. His father shook his head an  
d went back to his cleaning.

“Pay no mind to travelers and their stories my boy,” he assured his son with a low voice. “If the Queen is hiding someone I’m sure she had a reason for it, but I am sure what you heard is nothing more than an islander’s rumor.”

Derrick took a few steps to one of the wooden tables and grabbed a dirty cloth he had been using to scrub the floor; he picked it up and went back to the bucket, dropping it in the puddle around him. With his foot he pushed the cloth around, trying his best to sop up the water that had spilled, but the already damp cloth was making it difficult. Eventually he sighed and knelt down to scrub with his hands.

“If it is true...do you think the Iron Islands will attack the North in retaliation?”

“They’d be fools if they did. The Iron Islands have a pitiful army compared to that under Queen Sansa, not to mention that King Bran would no doubt send his own to aid us if need be. It would be suicide, and all for the sake of a child.”

“There’s been lesser of reasons for a war to start before.”

His father looked at him and after a few seconds of silence nodded. “You’re right. There has.”

Neither man knew what to say after that, so they continued to clean. Derrick strongly hoped that if the rumor was true that nothing would come from it. Although he could not remember, he had been alive during the Battle of Winterfell; he and his mother had hid in the crypts of the castle while his father fought valiantly against the dead. He didn’t much care for conflict, so that had been enough for his life time. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to fight, the multiple scraps he had won against the city’s bullies and drunken imbeciles proved that. That wasn’t it at all.

He had lost his mother in the crypts, taken from him by the dead. He didn’t like death, and he feared losing the ones he loved. If war were to break out in the North he would not fear for himself, but would be very worried about his father, his cousins. And because they lived in the port city, if anyone were to come and attack, White Harbor would most likely be the first hit, and they would be hit hard.

 

 

**Cristine**

 

That night brought heavy wind and rain to the North, something the summers usually were plentiful of. Strong cracks of thunder and blinding streaks of lightning had kept Cristine awake in her chambers, tossing and turning for hours a desperate attempt to sleep. With no avail however, she opted to lighting a few candles and going through the letters she had been sent by her mother over the years. She had kept them all, and even though she could not read them herself, she remembered what every single one of them was about from Eddy or Lady Sansa reading them to her.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Cristine read through each and every one of them, smiling to herself as memories and images of her mother’s adventures fled through her mind. Name day wishes, stories about the places she had traveled, stories about her past, questions regarding how Winterfell was treating her, promises that they would one day be together. Each scroll gave the young girl a strange mixture of happiness and sorrow at the same time. She missed her mother tremendously, even though she had really never known her, and wished they could be together more than anything.  
One thing however that Ser Brienne of Tarth had never mentioned, not once in any letter was Cristine’s father, and because of that she often wondered the story. Was her mother raped? Did it end horribly and she was embarrassed of the tale?

Cristine had asked Brienne a few times through letters, but never got a response. She had even tried asking Queen Sansa, but again no luck. It was one of those things that she had again given up on. But, the mystery always loomed in the back of her mind, and tonight it was especially high.

Becoming restless, both from the sound of the thunder and from her burning curiosity for questions that could not be answered, Cristine decided to take a walk through the castle, so she wrapped herself in a thick, fur house coat and took a candle and set off as quietly as she could.

She enjoyed walking the castle at night; there was a kind of peace that misted through the corridors that normally could not be found. Sometimes, on nights where the weather was not so dreadful, she could go out to the Godswood and sit with the family of cats that had made their home in the bush, look up at the clear night sky and picture what her life might have been life if her mother had decided to keep her all those years ago. But tonight sitting in the library with the musky smells and leaky window that let in a light chill would have to suffice.

As Cristine turned the corner into the library, she was surprised that her candle was not the only source of light. On the far end of the room, sitting by the window in his wheel chair, face illuminated by the dying flame of his own candle was King Bran, gazing almost lifelessly at the water droplets against the glass.

Cristine stopped abruptly when she saw him, and slowly he turned to face her. She had absolutely no idea how he had gotten out of his bed to come here, or why he was here in the first place, but she had learned not to question him so much.

Quickly she bowed her head. “Your Grace,” her voice squeaked from her throat. She was embarrassed to be caught out of bed at such an hour, and by none other than the King of the Six Kingdoms.

“It’s late.” Was all the King had to say.

Cristine could feel her cheeks burning and hoped that the fires glow would hide the pink she knew was there. “I couldn’t sleep....and I didn’t think anyone would be awake. Forgive me, I’ll return to my chambers at once.”

Before she could even turn around, the King’s voice spoke out. Quietly, but sternly.

“You’re already here.” He said, turning his head to look at another chair that sat opposite him. “There’s no point now.”

An eerie silence filled the room that was only broken by the patting of rain against the window. Cristine watched as Bran stared intently at the other chair, until she finally understood that he was trying to give her the hint to sit down. Not wanting to be rude, she quickly rushed across the room and sat, placing her candle on the table beside them before she did so.

Straightening her back and folding her hands on her lap, Cristine waited for Bran to speak, but he just stared at her....or through her, it felt like. It made her feel uneasy and she looked down, twiddling her thumbs together. He was a strange man, but she knew he meant her no harm.

After a few solid minutes of Cristine feeling the burn of the Kings gaze, she cleared her throat.

“Why are you...down here so late, Your Grace?” she asked. Bran blinked and leaned his head back against his chair, his eyes finally shifting back to the window. She sighed in relief.

“I like this hour.” Bran spoke as quietly as ever. “It’s quiet. It helps me clear my mind.”

The blonde nodded in agreement. “I like it too. There’s something very peaceful about the night and the moon shining high in the sky.”

The King said nothing, but as Cristine looked at him she could have sworn the very corner of his mouth twitched up, as though threatening a smile.

They sat like that for a while, until the rain calmed and became less and less against the window. Bran inhaled a bit louder than normally.

“You have questions.” He said finally. Cristine swallowed and looked at him with one single raised eyebrow. She didn’t understand what he meant.

“Your Grace?”

Bran turned towards her again, his gaze glassy. “About your father.”

Cristine’s jaw fell slightly. She hadn’t specifically had any questions other than, who was he, where was he? But...it hadn’t crossed her mind to ask the King. He knew everything; he had to have known who her parentage was. But all of a sudden she felt nervous and didn’t know how to put her words together. What if it really was something she did not want to hear?

Chuckling slightly, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Silly questions.” she said with a nod, mimicking words Margaret, the maid who had taken care of her and Eddy for most of their use had repeated whenever she had voiced the question. “One’s I shouldn’t bother myself or anyone else with.”

“But you have them nonetheless.”

Cristine hesitated and swallowed forcefully. “I...” she thought for a moment. “Did you know my father...Your Grace?”

The King lent his head to the side, as though he were thinking, but his gaze did not leave hers once. “I know everyone.” He said. “Some more than others. I knew your father only for a short while, but he helped me get where I am today.”

The blonde felt her heart leap in her chest. Her father had helped the King? She wanted to hear the story, how could she not.

“So he was a good man?” she said with a smile, leaning forward in her chair. But the small frown that appeared on Bran’s lips made her stomach turn inside of her.

“There is no good in this world, or bad. Everyone is who they are meant to be in order for our world to progress. That’s all.”

His words snaked through Cristine’s mind, but she was unsure of what he meant by them. “I...forgive me, I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Bran’s voice trailed off and he went silent once more. Cristine waited for a moment to see if he was going to continue, but much like always he sat still. Suddenly she noticed the defined chill in the air, and a warm tiredness hit her that she wasn’t expecting. Slowly she got to her feet and tucked her house coat around her.

“I should probably try to sleep, Your Grace.” She said, her voice hushed. “I promise to help Margaret tomorrow with the feast preparations. Bran nodded and looked back at the window. Cristine took a step away from the chair and took her candle. The King’s had already been suffocated by the lack of wick, and hers was halfway there as well. “Did you want me to take you back to your quarters?”

“I’ll stay here a while longer.”

She nodded and began to walk back towards the door, realizing that she was walking more on her toes as if not to make a sound.

“Goodnight, Your Grace.” Cristine called, looking at the man who was sitting alone in the dark, with only the dim shine of moonlight illuminating him now through the window. He stared lifelessly and did not answer.


	6. Tyrion

**Tyrion**

 

Eddy’s name day brought with it what any great celebration would; good company, better food, and plenty of music.

Tyrion sat at King Bran’s side, his belly full; sipping slightly at the glass of wine he’d been given. In front of them, on the other side of the table, the celebration goers were busy chatting, dancing alone to the music, or showering the boy of the hour in praise. Sansa and little Liem, residents of Winterfell , King Liem, Robin Arryn and his wine and twin daughters, and even Eddy’s grandparents and cousins from White Harbor had gathered, bringing both gifts to the young prince and their blessings.

On the side of the room at one of the large wooden tables, Cristine sat with her elbow propped beneath her, resting her chin on the back of her hand. Tyrion noticed her eyes looked tired, or bored, or sad, perhaps all three, and he pondered for a moment if he should act. After a moment of thinking he sighed and placed his wine on the table, slipping down from his seat and landing on the stone floor with a thud that went unnoticed beneath the music. Bran turned toward him as he walked around the table.

“I’ll be back,” Tyrion huffed, shuffling towards his niece. When he reached her it took her a moment to notice before she finally snapped into reality and her green eyes looked up.  
“Lord Tyrion?” she said, her tone slightly surprised. Tyrion smiled softly under his beard.

“It’s not very often a young lady as beautiful as yourself is left alone at a celebration like this. Especially when there’s music.” He said, trying his best to sound sincere. Cristine’s pale cheeks turned pink and she looked down at the table, suppressing a smile.

“Lady Sansa said I’m not to draw too much attention to myself.”

Tyrion’s brows furrowed. “All eyes in here are on Prince Eddy, we know that, don’t we?”

Cristine looked back up at him and slowly gave on solid nod. Without hesitation, Tyrion brought his hand over top of the table, palm up, motioning for her to take it. She looked down at it.

“Come have a dance with me!” the dwarf suggested gleefully. Again, Cristine’s cheeks went pink.

“I can’t dance.”

“And my father used to tell me that not only was I born deformed, ugly and impudent, but I was also cursed with two left feet.” His smile widened when he could see the small trace of uncomfortable guilt wash over her. “We can humiliate ourselves together. Come! Dance with me.”

He waited for a moment for her small hand to slip into his before lightly pulling her to her feet and guiding her around the table. She was much taller than he was, but not as tall as a grown person. Luckily this was not the first time he had danced with someone taller.

Bringing her to the middle of the floor, he reached up and placed one hand awkwardly on the small of her back, the other clutching her own. She took in a breath and put her hand on his shoulder and they began to dance, around and around. Tyrion tried his best to make it enjoyable for her, and after dipping her once he noticed a small giggle rise from her throat, it made happy. Her smile reminded him so much of Jaime.

“Forgive me,” he said while they turned. “I would spin you, but...if we tried that you’d need to bend down, and I feel the moment would be lost.”

Cristine laughed and shook her head. “I’m afraid I’d trip over my own dress if I were to spin anyway.”

“We make a fine pair.”

Before anything more could be said, the door to the great hall opened, and two of the guard from the gate of the city barged in, immediately everyone turned to look, though the music and chattering continued. Tyrion watched carefully as the guard walked over to Sansa and Liem and spoke to them for a moment. Sansa looked concerned for a moment but eventually nodded her head, holding little Liem tightly to her. The two guards retreated back outside of the hall. King Liem clapped his hands together loudly and held them over his head.

“Everyone!” he yelled twice until the room went quieter and all eyes were on him. “We will be joined now from men sent to us by Lady Yara of the Iron Islands. They bring their blessings and gifts for my son as a way to commemorate their friendship with the North!”

Everyone cheered, but Tyrion cast Bran a look. The younger man was already looking at him, his dead eyes staring, all knowing. It was not often they heard anything from Dorne or the Iron Islands in the capital that wasn’t politics related. They were under King Bran’s rule; they had nothing to do with the North and Queen Sansa or King Liem. Something wasn’t right.

Cristine pressed away from Tyrion and took a step forward; he looked at her only to see her face lit up with excitement.

“The Iron Islands!” she chimed. “I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t from the North before!”

The door to the hall opened yet again, and five round men who were dressed in scrappy, cheap armor stumbled in, pushing past one another, roughly trying to be the first through the door. The man who made it was the pudgiest of all, and had a fat face that was full of wiry blonde stubble. His cheeks were so puffy that they nearly swallowed his eyes whole, and the teeth that he bore in a wide smile were black at the gums with rot. He bowed slightly when he reached Sansa and Liem.

“Your Grace,” he announced roughly, taking Sansa’s hand away from her sleeping babe and planting a wet sounding kiss on it. “Lady Yara sends her deepest regards for the young prince’s name day.” He stood straight, dropping the Queens hand and looked around. “Where is he?”

“It’s very kind of Lady Yara to send you,” Sansa spoke, ignoring his question. Tyrion’s eyes move quickly through the crowd as he looked for Eddy. He was with his cousins on the far end of the room, stuffing his cheeks full with cakes as they laughed together the way children should. “You must be very weary from your travels.”

“Bah!” the man coughed, slapping his round stomach hard with both hands. “We could eat! But the Islander’s don’t get tired! Now where’s the boy?”

“Eddy!” King Liem called through the crowd, ignoring his wife’s scowl. Eddy stopped talking to his cousins and quickly rushed over. “These men traveled a very long way to give their blessings.”

“Thank you, very much.” Eddy said, bowing his head out of respect. All five of the men broke out into throaty laughs.

“The prince of the North, bowing at the likes of us.” One of them cackled. Tyrion hadn’t realized it at first, but he soon noticed that his face had crumpled with a sort of disgust. He had met many men like these ones over his years, and he never liked any of them.

“Please,” King Liem said with a nod. “Please help yourself to anything on the table to eat, enjoy the festivities. We will do gifts just before nightfall, and then you are more than welcome to stay for the night to rest your horses, if you wish.”

“Very kind, King in the North.” The stubbly man said with a bow, and led his men over to the table, pushing through the people. The music started again and everyone began to talk.

Cristine took a step, as though she were going to walk over to the men, but Tyrion’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her from moving any further. Her head spun around and she looked at him questioningly.

“I don’t think Lady Sansa would want you to speak to them right away.” He warned her quietly. Her pale brows furrowed and she lightly pulled away from him, he let her.

“Just moments ago you told me I didn’t have to listen to Lady Sansa.”

“Dancing at a celebration and talking to complete strangers is a completely different matter. I’ve met many a man in my day, and I know you can’t trust every one of them upon first glance. Let me observe them for a while and see. I have a knack for knowing these things.” He paused and eyed her intently. “You must promise me you’ll wait until I’ve decided if their safe or not.”

“But-”

“Promise me!”

“I promise.” Cristine sighed. Tyrion nodded.

“Good. Now go and tell Eddy the same thing. Watch yourselves.”

Cristine gave a single nod and headed off towards Eddy.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this idea just really came to me, as did the characters. I am excited to see where it goes but I will probably only continue if the interest is there, which is why this chapter is a bit rough. :P 
> 
> I have lots of ideas for it though, and I think its going to be fun.  
> Comment and let me know what you think and I will continue!


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